


Two's Company

by BluebeardsWife



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 20:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7986007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluebeardsWife/pseuds/BluebeardsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting kicked out by his wife Eileen, Brendan Brady rents a room from a uni kid named Steven Hay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two's Company

It was really all Eileen’s fault. If she hadn’t flat out kicked him out of _his own_ house, he wouldn’t be dealing with this shite. Ten years of marriage down the drain because of a pointless affair. It was hardly even an affair - they shagged once. And here Brendan was, well in his thirties and renting a room from a uni kid in the next town over because all his cash was wrapped up in side jobs, and Eileen refused to even talk to him.

The kid was nice enough - Steven Hay, twenty-something, small but good-looking enough to always have a fella. And as it turns out,  _that_ was the problem. But not for the reasons you think.

Steven was open about his sexuality before Brendan agreed to rent the room. 

“That gonna be a problem?” he had asked quite nervously. It was clear that it had been a problem in the past.

Leaning back on the living room sofa, Brendan stretched his arms across the back cushions casually.

“Nah. None of my business what you do.”

And it wasn’t a problem, at first. Despite the small age difference, Brendan and Steven got along quite well for the first few months. They had even started a weekly movie night, which included popcorn, drinks, and usually a selection of classic pictures Brendan couldn’t believe that Steven hadn’t seen yet. The evenings often started with Brendan feigning shock and dismay at Steven's ignorance of classic Hollywood films, and ended with Steven poking Brendan's mustache after the latter had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Some of Steven's friends would tease him about his live-in boyfriend - and Brendan let them. He was confident enough in his masculinity to not be bothered by the implication that he was into men. It all changed when Brendan’s divorce was finalized. Well, not _because_ of the divorce.

 

Brendan left work a little early that day and picked up a bottle of pink champagne to celebrate his freedom. Humming to himself, he entered the living room but froze suddenly at the sight in front of him. He had known the whole time that Steven dated men, of course, but he had never seen him kiss one. He certainly wasn't prepared to see him wearing nothing but his boxers, face buried in another bloke's neck.

The sight of his flatmate’s sexual encounter felt like a slap in the face.  It took all of Brendan's will-power not to jump in and smash the bottle of champagne across the dopey-faced wanker’s head, who continued to caress Steven’s back as they kissed noisily. For a moment, Brendan thought he might be sick.  He made a slight retching sound and set the bottle on the coffee table.

“Oh shit,” Steven jumped up from the sofa and away from his date. “Bren! I didn’t think you’d be home so soon. Sorry, mate.”

He quickly pulled on his T-shirt that had been lying crumpled on the floor. Brendan noticed that he had put it on backwards. Steven’s date took a longer time getting dressed. In fact, he seemed annoyed at the interruption.  Brendan gawked silently at them for a moment, overwhelmed with intense disgust at the whole scene and simultaneous shame at his own reaction.

“This is Doug,” Steven interrupted the silence. “Doug, this is my flatmate, Brendan.” He grinned confidently, looking from one man to the other.

With a polite smile, Doug offered a limp hand to Brendan for a handshake. He was even smaller than Steven, and Brendan narrowed his eyes slightly at the friendly gesture, his face frozen in a sneer, but did not move. Letting his hand drop, Doug cleared his throat awkwardly and tried again.

“Ste says you’re a great roommate,” he said in a shaky voice. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Brendan hated the nickname Ste. It wasn’t even a name! It didn’t suit Steven – even though everyone else called him that. It somehow sounded even worse in Doug’s American accent. He scoffed, raising his eyebrows at Steven.

“Really? A Yank? Ye can’t do better than this?”

“Brendan!” Steven cried, staring wide-eyed at his flatmate.

The obvious hurt in Steven’s eyes only enraged Brendan more. He needed to leave before he said something he couldn’t take back.

“Let me know when you’re done doing,” he paused, waving his hand in the general area of the sofa, “whatever it is you boys were doing, Steven.” 

Before Steven had time to react, Brendan rushed out into the street, slamming the front door behind him. It had started to drizzle, and the September wind hit his face with tiny droplets as soon as he stepped outside. Brendan zipped up his leather jacket and walked briskly down the street. He wasn’t sure where he was going. Anywhere but here.

He had not been prepared for the intensity of emotion that Steven’s tryst aroused in him. He didn’t understand where it came from. He had never had a problem with Steven before. He certainly never thought of himself as a homophobe. And he was not bothered by Steven's sexuality at all until he saw him pawing that bloody Yank. He just didn’t have to _see_ it happen, that’s all…

Slowly, the guilt started to creep in as the rain intensified. Brendan knew he should have been nicer. Or at least not a complete dick. But if he was honest, he knew that walking out was the least offensive thing he could have done. Staying would have resulted in proper violence.

It was pouring buckets at this point, and Brendan ducked into the first pub he came across. He shook his head and torso like a wet dog, spraying the nearest table with cold rainwater. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t paid attention to where he was going. He hoped to have entered a dive, somewhere dark and dank where only low-lives hang about, but instead, this place looked posh and shiny.

A high-pitched squeal snapped him out of his reverie.

“Brendan Brady!”

At the elegant bar, with a bright orange and pink cocktail in hand, sat none other than Anne Minniver, better known as the wanna-be celebrity, Mitzeee. Her makeup was flawless, as usual, and her shiny brown hair bounced as she turned her head to wave at Brendan. She wore a tan mink stole around her bare shoulders, and a lacy fuchsia dress that barely covered her thighs. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Brendan muttered to himself. 

Rearranging his face into a smile, he walked up to the bar and let Mitzeee pull him into a heavily perfumed hug.

“I was hoping to run into you while I’m in town! I hear you’re living the bachelor lifestyle. Tell me everything!” She sat back down, crossed her legs and puckered her lips slightly, patting the bar stool next to hers for Brendan to sit on.

Brendan knew how difficult it was to escape once Mitzeee got her claws in you, but at this point even that was preferable to being alone with his thoughts. Eileen had always suspected something was going on between him and Mitzeee, but, truth be told, she just wasn’t his type. She was too high-maintenance.

“Ah, you know how it is,” he started, making himself comfortable at the bar. “Whiskey, neat,” he said to the bartender. “Just enjoying my new-found freedom,” he lied to his pretty companion.

“Mmmmmmmm, I don’t believe you for a second, Brendan Brady,” Mitzeee sipped her drink with raised eyebrows, and then, snapping her fingers at the bartender, exclaimed, “Make that a double!”

“Are you hammered?” Brendan squinted at her.

“A lady doesn’t get hammered, Brendan. I am pleasantly intoxicated.” She leaned over the bar and grabbed an olive from a small jar on the other side, quickly popping it into her mouth before the bartender noticed.

“But a lady hates to drink alone,” she smiled coyly at him.

“Oh what the hell.” Brendan shrugged, downing his whiskey. He was ready to forget this day ever happened.

 

* * *

 

 

Brendan wasn’t sure how much time had passed or why he was talking to Mitzeee about personal problems, but the words seemed to spill out of his mouth as quickly as the liquor went in.

“I’m not a bigot! I’m a progressive bloke. I don’t care what people do in their beds! But this wasn’t his bed," he gestured emphatically, pointing his thumb at the exit.

"I sit on that sofa! It was disgusting,” he snarled.

Mitzeee observed him silently, her head cocked a bit to the left. She had that look in her eyes of knowing something you don’t.

“I know it isn’t about the sofa,” Brendan defended himself preemptively. “Can I just ask him not to bring blokes to the flat?”

He chuckled at his own suggestion, “it’s his fucking flat!”

“Brendan,” Mitzeee asked gently, “would it be better if he brought girls around?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this Steven bloke,” Mitzeee chose her words carefully, “he seems like a good lad, yeah? Do you boys get along?”

“Yea,” Brendan shrugged.

“Well, can you tell me a little about him? Just so I have a better idea?” She pursed her lips for a moment, then fixed her lipstick with her pinky absentmindedly before continuing.

“What does he look like? What do you do when you spend time together… alone… in your shared flat?”

“Dunno,” said Brendan, bemused. “We watch movies. We drink pints. Joke around.”

“Mhmmm?” She looked at him, waiting for more.

“Uh, he’s yay high,” he gestured with his hand casually, “scrawny, kind of a chav, if you ask me. ... But he’s a solid bloke. You can trust him with anything.”

Brendan chuckled, swirling the last drops of liquor left in his glass.

“He can be real cheeky. I’m shocked he doesn’t get punched more. Wanted to clock him a few times myself. He just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, you know?”

“Hm.” Mitzeee nodded, her eyebrows raised.

“I kinda like that about him though,” Brendan confessed before looking up at her slightly bleary-eyed. “What?”

“Oh nothing,” Mitzeee pretended to check her cell phone before putting it back in her little pink clutch. Brendan wondered if her brightly colored cocktails even had any alcohol in them. “I have to get going, I have a long day tomorrow. You’ll get the check, won’t you, babe? Thanks!”

She blew him a fake kiss as she got up and headed towards the door. It seemed sudden, but Brendan was a tad too drunk to care.

“Oh, Brendan?” Mitzeee turned back around.

“Mmm?”

“Have you considered the possibility that you’re jealous?”

“Jealous?” Brendan scoffed. “I can land any bird I want. Have you seen me?”

Mitzeee chuckled in a manner that made Brendan kind of want to punch her, too.

“Not of Steven, dummy,” she smiled. “Of his partner. You’re in love with your flatmate, babe. It’s clear as day.” And with an amused toss of her hair, she disappeared.

Brendan looked around the bar, as though expecting some other patron to shake his head and laugh with him at the absurdity of Mitzeee’s suggestion. How could he be in love with Steven? He wasn’t _even a little_ gay. He had a wife and kids! Well, ex-wife, but the point stood. He got out his wallet and threw a few bills on the bar, hoping he wasn’t overpaying, before stumbling out into the street.

The cold air felt good on his hot cheeks. He zipped up his jacket again and headed home through quiet streets and dark alleys, hearing his footsteps echo slightly on the wet pavement.

 _Alright_ , he thought. _Would it bother me if Steven shagged a lass on the sofa?_

He tried to envision the situation but immediately felt uncomfortable at the image of Steven’s nude body, for which he now had a visual reference. His heart skipped a beat. He slowly and deliberately allowed the thought to form in his head.

_Would it bother me if Steven shagged **me** on the sofa? _

Before he could over-analyze the sudden warmth that crept up his neck into his cheeks, he looked up to find himself standing outside Steven’s flat. It looked dark inside. Brendan slipped the key into the lock slowly, and turned it as quietly as he could. The only sound he could hear was the soft humming of the old refrigerator. Steven had gone to bed. With a sigh of relief, Brendan went to his room. He wondered for a moment if Doug was in Steven’s bed right now. He shook his head, willing himself not to think about it, took off his jacket and trousers, and collapsed on the bed, where he fell asleep almost immediately. 

 

* * *

 

The morning sun hit Brendan like a brick in the face. The inside of his skull throbbing in pain, he groaned, turned over, and with a loud thump, found himself face-down on the floor. He sat up slowly and leaned against the bed frame. He hadn’t been this hungover since Eileen first kicked him out. He rifled through the drawers of his nightstand for a bit, found a small bottle of aspirin, and swallowed a couple of pills dry. _Water would be good, too,_ he thought. _And maybe if whoever is making all that ruckus in the kitchen would shut the hell up._ Vaguely aware that he really didn’t want to talk to Steven right now, he closed the heavy curtains and climbed back into bed.

Brendan woke up in the late afternoon, feeling significantly more human. He stared at the ceiling for a little while, going through last night’s events in his mind. He wasn’t sure if he remembered everything. He did remember that Steven probably hated him now. And he couldn’t hide out in his bedroom forever.

A short while later, Brendan stepped into the living room tentatively, wearing his best blue jeans and a casual gray shirt with a collar that opened slightly over his chest. He was aware of having picked the outfit he wears mostly when he wants to score, but pushed that thought out of his mind for now. The anxious buzz in his stomach slowly turned to disappointment, as he realized that Steven wasn’t home.

It wasn’t until hours later that the latch on the door finally clicked, and Steven walked in, carrying groceries, and startling Brendan out of a pleasant doze in front of the telly. As Brendan stood up and faced the front door, he wasn’t sure if the chills he felt were from the cold air that made its way in or the equally icy look on Steven’s face.

“Have a good nap, did ya?” Steven said in an overly cheerful tone, setting two bags full of groceries on the kitchen table.

“Steven,” was all that Brendan managed to say. Looking at Steven in his tracksuit bottoms and a ridiculously patterned shirt, he felt as though he was seeing his flatmate for the first time. _Of course_ he was in love with him. How did he not notice before? He hadn't felt this way about anyone in ages.

“Maybe next time you can tell me when you won’t be coming home at night,” Steven went on, putting the milk in the fridge with a little more force than necessary. “So that I can bring back whoever I want, yeah?”

Brendan just stared at him stupidly. He had no idea what to say. The truth? It could make the living situation go to shite.

“I mean, since this is _your_ flat, and I need to work around _your_ schedule, right? OH WAIT, it’s…  it’s my flat!” He raised his arms in feigned surprise. “And I told you before you moved in I was gay. That means I sleep with blokes, you _do_ know that, don’t you?”

“Steven, I...” Brendan started, but Steven wasn’t having any of it.

“It’s Ste. S-T-E. Everybody calls me Ste, can’t you get that through your thick head?”

He threw some canned food into a cupboard, slamming the doors shut.

“Don’t you think that maybe you’re overreacting?” Brendan was getting annoyed. “Just a bit?”

He gestured with his thumb and index finger to indicate a small amount. He knew he should apologize and explain, but hated showing weakness.

Instead, he chuckled and said “It’s not like you’ll bring _that_ git around again. You can do better.”

Brendan knew he had gone too far the moment the words left his mouth.

“Actually, Brendan,” Steven said with deliberate emphasis on Brendan’s name. “It’s getting a bit serious with Doug. I think I might ask him to move in.”

Sheer panic flooded Brendan’s entire body, and Steven was visibly taken aback by Brendan's reaction.

“Seriously?” Brendan's voice cracked slightly, and for some reason that was the thing that made Steven come around.

“No, not seriously, I just met him a couple of weeks ago, are you daft?” His anger seemed to give way to frustration. Finally, he stopped fiddling with the remaining groceries and walked back into the living room, leaning against the wall across from Brendan.

“I thought we were mates,” he said quietly, crossing his arms across his chest.

“We are... mates.” Brendan said quietly.

“But I have to pretend I’m someone I’m not, is that it? We’re mates as long as I go back in the closet?”

“It’s not that, Steven, I just...” Brendan searched for the right words. “I don’t like seeing you... with blokes,” his voice became lower and more gravelly, “other blokes.” 

“Other than wha’?” Steven lowered his arms, mouth slightly ajar.

Brendan let out a small laugh. “I can’t do this,” he said shaking his head, not looking at Steven.

“Do what?” Ste asked, taking a step closer. “We’re mates, just tell me.”

“Maybe I don’t wanna be mates,” Brendan growled almost inaudibly, keeping his gaze fixed on a tiny crack in the wall behind Steven. He scratched the back of his neck anxiously until he felt Steven’s hand on his arm, lowering it.

“Will you cut that out,” said Steven.

Brendan finally looked up, slightly alarmed at Steven’s sudden proximity. He couldn’t help but notice how blue Steven’s eyes were, with stupidly long lashes that curved perfectly at the ends. A slight smirk on Steven’s lips suggested that he noticed more than he was letting on. It was as though he was daring Brendan to kiss him, and suddenly all Brendan could think about was what Steven’s lips would feel like on his.

Steven parted his lips, leaned in slightly, and whispered, “Are you scared of me?”

Brendan smirked at the cheek of him, trying to be offended, but the words seemed loaded with something more. He wasn’t sure why, but he got the distinct impression that Steven was flirting with him. _Was he?_ Well, there was one way to find out, and Brendan Brady wasn’t one to step away from a challenge. He had always faced his problems head-on, without fear or restraint. Why should this be any different? If he wanted to kiss a bloke, he would kiss a bloke.

He reached out his arm, hooking his index finger on the open collar of Steven’s shirt, and gently pulled him closer. Steven let himself be pulled closer without resistance. Leaning in slowly, Brendan let his lips softly graze Steven’s, before planting a light but deliberate kiss on his mouth. He pulled away slowly, just far enough for their eyes to meet. Steven's eyes darted from Brendan's eyes to his lips. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity as Brendan gently brushed a stray curl from Steven’s forehead, smiling lopsidedly at how easy it was after all.

This time it was Steven who leaned in, tentatively, kissing Brendan with mouth slightly open, the tip of his tongue finding its way between Brendan’s burning lips, Brendan pushing into Steven with equal force, hands grabbing at his waist and the back of his neck, pulling him ever closer in a flurry of desperate wet kisses. Brendan could feel his whole body humming with the pleasure and excitement of it all. He had been scared it would feel odd, but it felt so right and good and _intoxicating_. He felt himself getting hard and wondered if they on the same page. Pushing Steven hard into the wall behind him, Brendan kissed him again and lowered his hand to graze over a sizable bulge in the thin material of his tracksuit. The mere thought of that hard cock in his hand pushed Brendan almost to the breaking point.

“We can take it slow if you want,” Steven whispered unconvincingly, in a break between kisses.

Breathing heavily, Brendan growled in his ear, words that he never thought he would hear himself say.

“I want to suck your cock until you cum in my mouth, Steven. Now take off your trousers.”

Steven gasped audibly, already seeming about to burst with pleasure. He helped Brendan unzip his trousers, letting them drop to the floor as Brendan lowered himself on his knees. Brendan wasn’t exactly sure if he knew what to do, but figured it couldn’t be that hard, considering he was already familiar with the equipment. He glanced for a moment at Steven’s erect cock, and he wanted it even more.

“Brendan, please...” Steven practically whimpered, biting his bottom lip, gently guiding Brendan’s head closer to his groin. Brendan smirked at the new-found power he had over his flatmate. He ran the tip of his tongue firmly along the underside of Steven’s shaft, swirling it around the head, already wet with precum. It tasted salty and slightly bitter, but in a particularly Steven kind of way, and Brendan wanted more. He took all of him into his mouth, encouraged by the guttural moan that escaped Steven’s lips instantly. As Brendan slid his lips up and down Steven’s slick shaft, he imagined what it would look like to have it reciprocated, with those delicate lips wrapped around Brendan’s erect cock, looking up at him through those long eyelashes of his. Brendan hadn’t even realized that he had wrapped his free hand around his own cock, moving it at the same rhythm that his mouth was moving on Steven’s. Ways of pleasure shook his body as he came mere seconds after Steven spurted warm, sticky cum in his mouth, moaning loudly, and slowly slumped down on the floor next to him.

“Wow,” Steven panted, gazing at his flatmate with lips slightly parted.  Brendan had never seen anything so beautiful. Steven’s blond hair was a mess, his eyes heavy, and his dewy skin glistened with sweat in the last remaining rays of sunlight before dusk.

It really was all Eileen’s fault, Brendan thought to himself. He’d have to thank her later.


End file.
